


I Have Quite Forgotten Their Names

by Basingstoke



Series: The Fourth Age [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV), The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Dwarves, Elves, Fourth Age, Ithryn Luin - Freeform, Multi, Orcs, The Avari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 03:51:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18683578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: In which a wizard and an elf travel west into Gondor.Note: If you are unfamiliar with Person of Interest, you will be fine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The LOTR canon used is book primary, movie secondary, but I do like the additional characters and look of the movies so I used them when they did not conflict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo Baggins: Are there any?
> 
> Gandalf: What?
> 
> Bilbo Baggins: Other wizards?
> 
> Gandalf: There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman the White. And then there are the two Blue Wizards... do you know, I have quite forgotten their names.

Joss found the caravan at the Black Gate of Mordor. Some twenty years after the war, the massive gate itself was gone, broken down by the axes of Men and Dwarves, and the stone used to rebuild Osgiliath. Only the scars in the ground and the name remained. The towers of the Teeth that bracketed the mountain gap were watchtowers of Gondor once again. 

Every spring and summer brought more travelers on the roads and more trade between the various peoples of the West. She saw Hobbits from the Shire bringing grain to Gondor and Mirkwood, speedy Men of Rohan carrying messages in all directions, Dwarves from Erebor and the Iron Hills, and above them the constant flight of the intelligent ravens of Erebor.

Travelers had been bringing messages for weeks of a caravan of Dwarves, Elves, and Men coming south along the old Dwarf road east of the Greenwood, a road that hadn't been in use for over one hundred years. Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf had confirmed they were expecting various kin and their companions. Two days ago, ravens brought word that the travelers were nearing, and so Joss had set forth from the way station at Henneth Annûn to meet the caravan. Her partner was away, not yet returned from a visit to her family, but she didn't need backup on such a simple assignment.

The late afternoon sun was still warm on her cheek but the night would be cold. It was always cold so close to the Mountains of Shadow. It was like the evil the mountains had contained for so long had leeched all the warmth of the earth and the sun from the peaks. 

She heard the caravan before she saw it; from the sound of it, the horses were being troublesome, and the caretaker was cursing them. When she got a little closer, she saw several animals frolicking over the road in front of the wagons, climbing up the side of the mountain and bouncing back off: goats with shaggy hair and large curling horns. One had a saddle still on its back and a person running after it. 

Beyond the troublesome goats, she saw three campfires well spaced from each other. Interesting. She waved to the sentry who had clearly long since seen her and her Gondorian livery and dismounted, dropping the reins to ground tether her obedient Rohan-trained horse. 

The first fire was the company of Elves. She counted nine, all in the green and brown Legolas wore rather than the silver favored by Queen Arwen, so these would be Elves come down from the Greenwood in the north. A common sight these days. Not very worrying: their prince Legolas was a great friend of King Elessar, and the Greenwood Elves had joined with the Dwarves of Erebor and the Iron Hills to beat back Sauron’s armies in the north. The ancient feud wasn’t over, certainly, but Greenwood Elves didn’t pick fights as often as their western cousins. 

The elves looked similar, one to another, all pale and slender, all carrying bows and long knives, male and female alike unbearded with long, unbound hair of red or brown. They seemed young. That was deceptive with Elves, of course—they always seemed young of body—but the ancient and powerful Elves she had seen seemed like they had worn their youth for a terribly long time.

A red-haired female Elf stood as Joss approached. "Eithel govannen," Joss said. 

"Well met," the head Elf said. "I am Tauriel of the Woodland Realm."

"Joss, Ranger of Gondor. I bring bread and salt to welcome you in the name of King Elessar." She had a loaf of rye bread and a box of sea salt for exactly this purpose. Each Elf took a morsel of bread pressed with salt as a symbol of hospitality. "King Elessar welcomes all people who come peacefully to Gondor. Will you be joining Prince Legolas?" 

"We will," Tauriel said, and the others nodded. 

"You will find him at Cair Andros, the island citadel in the Anduin." 

"Thank you," Tauriel said. Her face changed and she moved close to Joss, murmuring: "We are joining Legolas in peace and prosperity. I cannot speak for our fellow travelers, especially _them_." Her eyes flickered to the third fire, where two figures were outlined against the sky.

"Hm," Joss said. "No trouble with the Dwarves, though?" She’d seen Dwarves kick up often enough, and once the fight was started, it was anyone’s guess who would finish it.

"They are Dwarves; they are noisy and merry and busy. I am fond of Dwarves, especially the Dwarves of Erebor," Tauriel said, to Joss's great surprise. She thought Legolas was the only Elf who _liked_ a Dwarf rather than just tolerating them. "I have found the journey most pleasant indeed."

Joss moved on to the next group, by far the biggest: eighteen Dwarves and ten Men. The Men wore the layered, fur-trimmed clothing of the Northmen, although they weren't wearing the great fur cloaks and hats they were most known for. Too warm. There was one family group, a woman with her four children, the youngest barely walking; the second oldest watched the baby while the mother and her other two children cooked stew and flat barley bread by the fire. The rest of the party were sturdy adults in their prime, exactly the sort of person to seek their fortune in a newly reborn kingdom. 

Most of the Dwarves wore the familiar hoods and iron boots of Erebor. One group, though, wore leather boots and silver-brown fur trousers of a type she wasn't familiar with. They used matching long fur coats as sleeping pallets. Above the trousers, they wore woolen shirts in shockingly vivid blues and pinkish purples, and they had bright red and gold hair which they wore in two thick braids. That group seemed to be a single family.

Again she introduced herself and gave them bread and salt. "Bunur, son of Bombur, formerly of Erebor, at your service," the head Dwarf said. He was tall for a Dwarf, stoutly built with a round, brown face and curly red-brown hair.

"Bernard, son of Bragg, formerly of Dale, at your service," the Man said. He was short for a Man, as broad of shoulder and brown as Bunur, so that he and the Dwarf looked like kin. "We are going to Osgiliath."

"Aye, first Osgiliath, then on to Minas Tirith, and then to the Glittering Caverns," Bunur said. "My lord Gimli set us a task to examine the rebuilding of the cities of Men."

"I think we Men will stop in Osgiliath. We understand there are places there for strong arms and willing hearts," Bernard said. 

"You are all most welcome," Joss said. She started to move again, but Bernard touched her arm with the back of his hand. 

"We none of us know what they are about, Ranger," he murmured, flicking his eyes to the two figures at the third fire. "They are—well, you will see. I have spoken to the Dwarves and the Elves as well as the Men, and those two are known to none of us."

"Our hands are open but so are our eyes," she replied softly. She approached the last group, the two people sitting nearest to the Black Gates at the smallest fire. She could see into Mordor from here. Grass didn't seem to grow beyond the mountains, only prickly shrubs and small, twisted trees. Further in, she knew, the remains of Mount Doom stood encased in wickedly glimmering, boot-shredding black glass from its great eruption. 

Both figures sat in folding chairs of Erebor design. One person sat perched forward and stared into the fire. The other leaned back with legs outstretched, watching the other groups. She thought at first that the one looking into the fire was a Man and the wary one an Elf, but she was less and less sure of that the closer she got. 

Behind the pair was a round-faced house-wagon with iron wheels, painted sky blue and decorated with red and brown finches and pink-throated hummingbirds. It looked like they had their horse tethered beside it; she could see its shaggy rump behind the wagon. 

"Eithel govannen," Joss said. 

The watchful Elf raised his eyebrow at her—and he had to be an Elf, she thought, unless there was another kind of person in the world. She had met Elves and Men and Orcs and Hobbits and the giant, shape-changing Beornings. She had heard of the tree-shaped Ents and huorns of Fangorn Forest and the wizard Gandalf, who looked like a Man. She did not know of anything shaped like an Elf who was not an Elf.

“Well met,” he said. His voice was raspy but soft, like the crunch of dried grass. He had the general look of the Men of Dorwinion, being tanned, black-haired, and grey-eyed; he had the height, sharp face, and large pointed ears common in Elves. He wore plain black clothes and white linen in the style of Dorwinion, well-made and new-looking. She noted that the cloak had a quick-release clasp and he wore two short swords nearly concealed on his back in addition to the two curved knives in his belt and the bow and quiver hanging on the front of the wagon. 

He was an Elf. He was clearly an Elf, except that he was lacking some quality that the other Elves possessed. It was, she thought, as if he cast a shadow in the wrong direction or some other, slight, uncanny thing. And his hair was graying—salt and pepper throughout, a streak of white half-hidden on the side of his head—which she had never seen in an Elf before. She had seen Elrond, father of Queen Arwen, once, and she knew he was many thousands of years old but his hair was still brown. How old was an Elf that showed signs of age? 

The other person—Joss was entirely sure this person was not a Man, for all that he looked like one, as he had that Elven quality the other lacked—was small and gray-haired with large, bright blue eyes. He wore belted blue robes, a blue hat with a wide brim and short conical peak, and round metal spectacles with thick ground-glass lenses. His nose was long and pointed like the beak of a bird. He glanced up from the fire at Joss. "Yes, well met." 

"I bring you the hospitality of Gondor." She offered the bread and salt. After a slight pause, both people took it. "My name is Joss, Ranger of Gondor," she said.

"I have a few names," the Elf said. "Most call me Luindur." 

"Luin" just meant blue, and she thought the "dur" ending meant "servant;" she knew Isildur, the father of her king's line, and his name meant "servant of the moon." Servant of the blue. Clearly it was some kind of use-name or alias. 

Joss knelt by the fire. "I thought Elves only had one name?" She knew it was more complicated than that. They didn't usually change their names, but some Elves collected nicknames like hairpins. 

"Western Elves might. In the East we're more practical. In Arnhal, I'm called Nurgris. In Northern Faring, I'm called Eisjo. In Blethek Dolun, I'm called Madglammer." 

She shook her head. "Places I haven't even heard of," she said. And those names didn't sound like any Elf names she was familiar with. “Which of those is your real name?” She tried to keep the question light; she didn’t think she managed. 

"I don't care. Call me Jeg if you want." There was no expression on his face, not hostile, not welcoming; he bore less emotion than the average stone statue.

Jeg was a joke, the name in a comic song out of the Shire. The song had gone up and down the king's roads for the past fifteen years. "So do you like a stout keg and a spicy mutton leg, Master Jeg?" Joss asked. 

He tilted his head. He gave her half a smile, still with no humor, but still with no sneer. "I do, in fact. Do you know where I can get them?" 

"I can recommend a tavern in Osgiliath. Is that where you're heading?" 

"I don't know where we're headed. He's the boss." He looked to the birdlike person in blue.

"And you are, sir?" she asked the birdlike person.

The birdlike person blinked up at both of them. He was holding his hands by the fire—no, he was holding his hands _in_ the fire, a flicker of blue flame around his fingers. "My dear companion, why do you not introduce me?" 

"My dear companion, I don't know what your name is here,” Luindur said. While his expression didn’t change, there was genuine emotion in his voice when he spoke to the person in blue. “Dear” didn’t sound like a joke. It sounded like affection.

"Don't be absurd," the person said. 

"Names have weight. I know who you are in Blethek Dolun. I know who you are in Dorwinion. I know who you are in Hildorien. Who are you in Gondor?" 

"Nonsense. I've been in Gondor before. I was—" He frowned. "Haven't I?" 

"I met you in Dorwinion and we haven't been West since then," Luindur said. 

"Perhaps I haven't. What a moment! You should name me," the person said to Joss.

"But names have weight," Joss said, raising her eyebrows. 

"Precisely! Who better to name me in Gondor than a guardian of Gondor? But take your time, it will come to you," the person said. 

"I will settle my horse for the night and return," she said. "I have never met Easterners before. I will have a thousand questions for you."

Their horse, behind the wagon, snorted as she rose. It moved around the side of the wagon, and she heard a chain clanking; had they used a chain to tether the horse? That seemed excessive—

Her heart leapt into her throat. It wasn't a horse. She froze, hand on her sword, as the shaggy, long-legged bear strode toward her. It shook its head, twitching one ear. 

On all four feet it was taller than she was. Its head was the size of her breastplate. Its teeth were as long as her fingers. And those long legs suggested speed, that it could gallop, so there was no point in running...

"Don't mind the bee-wolf," Luindur said. He reached up and scratched behind the bear's ear. The bear snuffled at his chin in a friendly manner. "He doesn't eat Gondorian." 

She breathed in a massive gulp. She pressed her hand to her chest, catching her breath. "Bones of my ancestors, I saw my life flash before my eyes," she sighed. 

"He's quite mild of temper really," the birdlike person said. 

"I hope he is. Does he pull the wagon?" Joss asked, incredulous. The bear wore a sort of vest with rings and buckles in various useful places. When she looked at the shafts of the wagon, she could see straps that corresponded to the buckles. 

"Yes. He hunts mushrooms, too," Luindur said, rubbing the bear's cheek. The bear closed his eyes and heaved out a sigh. 

Joss held out the end of the rye loaf, trusting to the gods for her safety, and the bear licked it delicately from her hand. 

"Think of him as the biggest dog you ever saw," Luindur said. 

"I'll try," Joss said. The content look on the bear's face as he chewed on the end of the loaf did help.

She sprinkled some salt on her palm, to complete the ritual of welcome, but Luindur shook his head. "He might bite down." 

"Ah." She wiped her hand on her thigh. "I will see to my horse," she said. 

She found Bernard by the horses and gave him a filthy look. "You could have warned me." 

He laughed, but quickly sobered. "They frightened the life out of us, Ranger, just as they did you. And I don't know that we've stopped being frightened yet." 

"When did they join the caravan?" 

"Only yesterday. We came straight south from Dale, along the River Running and the east border of Mirkwood, then through the Brown Lands. There's an old Dwarf road as smooth and broad as a house, under the turf. Then we met them here on the Morannon, coming west on the road along the Ash Mountains. Wagon pulled by a bear, I have never seen the like," Bernard said, shaking his head. 

"They say it's good-tempered."

"Just as good-tempered as my great-aunt Bathilda, I'm sure. Nothing with teeth that long needs to be sweet. And," Bernard said with a lowered voice, "the Elves took one look at the driver and kept their distance. What kind of Elf is shunned by other Elves?" 

Joss combed her fingers through her mare's forelock. "Sleep, Master Bernard. You have the protection of Gondor now."

The goats curled up in balls beside the horses as night deepened. Even the wayward goat was cornered and unharnessed for the night. Joss freed her horse of the bridle and saddle, piled both in a row with the others, and slung her saddle pack over her shoulder. 

She returned to the fire of the mystery Elf with her pack. "May I join you for the night?" 

"You may. We have a bed in the wagon," Luindur said. "It would be cramped for three, but I do not object." 

"I object most strenuously!" the birdlike person said. "A stranger in our bed!" He blinked at Luindur, who crinkled his eyes in amusement. "Oh, I see, you are funning me. That is unkind," he said, and Luindur laughed aloud. 

"I'll be fine by the fire," Joss said. 

"The honey thief will be pleased to keep you warm, then," Luindur said. The bear had sprawled between the two people, resting his head on his outstretched forelegs. 

"Will you share my dinner?" She took apart her pack: bed roll, spare clothing, personal care, food pouch, extra knife. Her food pouch wasn’t fat but there was enough to share. 

"Certainly, if you will share our dinner."

Joss nodded. "What do you eat in the East?" 

"What do you eat in the West?" 

Joss raised her eyebrows, opened her pouch and produced flat maize bread and a store of pemmican wrapped in waxed paper. 

"Red berries mixed with fat, meat, and salt," the birdlike person said. "This is the food of Gondor?"

"Looks good to me," Luindur said. 

"Give me the king's kitchens and I'll cook you a feast you won't forget. In the shadow of the great battlefield, this is the best I can do," Joss said. 

"I don't disapprove. It is most efficient. Still, I think we have something to offer as well." The person looked to Luindur.

"We have...let me see," Luindur said, alighting into the wagon and disappearing behind the curtain. He returned in a moment with a leather sack and presented it to Joss with a sly smirk. 

She opened the sack and drew out a bottle of Dorwinion wine, a sleeve of hard crackers, a cluster of kumquats, candied crab apples and dried apricots, walnuts and almonds and filberts in the shell, pickled beets, small square seed cake, dried tomatoes coated in herbs, a jar of rich black olive paste, and handfuls of hard, salted cheeses. She was sure she took more out of the bag than could have been contained within, by the time she had it all arrayed on the rocks by the fire. 

She looked up at Luindur as he took a drink from her water skin. He tilted his eyebrows at her. "Dinner and supper," Joss said, thinking of Hobbit feasts.

They all ate and drank—Luindur eating only another bite of pemmican and water, but his companion eating heartily from everything before the fire—as darkness fell around them. 

"So why travel west?" Joss asked. "Are you sailing with the other Elves?" 

Luindur went very still. "No," he said. 

"We are looking for Mithrandir," the bird person said. "He sent word that we should come. I think that he never comes east of Mordor, but he said we might find him in Minas Tirith."

"Mithrandir?" She had to think once, twice, but she realized: "Gandalf?" 

"Yes, Gandalf, or Incánus," the bird person said. "Do you know him?" 

"My king knows him. Knew him," Joss said. 

"Knew?" Luindur said.

"I think he sailed with the Elves," Joss said. "I know Frodo the Ringbearer left Middle-Earth. I think Gandalf left with him." She knew Frodo from his great deed, of course, but also from the songs and stories he had written, and she knew Gandalf as the subject of most of those stories. Gandalf seemed to have been everywhere at once for centuries on end. There was a tapestry in the Silver Hall of Gandalf rescuing Prince Faramir from the Nazgûl. Gandalf had discovered the Ring in the Shire and started the great quest; Gandalf had helped the doomed king Thorin retake Erebor, and then helped vanquish him when the love of gold twisted his mind; Gandalf had fought the Necromancer, who was Sauron in disguise; Gandalf had brought the Elfstone to Galadriel so that she could give it to King Elessar. Gandalf was a friend of Beorn and Shadowfax and Treebeard and the other great lords of the world. 

"But you aren't sure?" the birdlike person said. 

"Gandalf the White doesn't keep me apprised of his comings and goings. So no, I don't know for sure." 

"The White?" 

"He was Grey and now he's White. Because Saruman was the White Wizard, but he was corrupted by Sauron. So Gandalf broke his staff and became the White Wizard." She knew this part of the history extremely well. Many of the Horse-lords, Lady Eowyn's kin, had been there when Gandalf defeated Sauron, and they told wondering stories of the squabbling wizards and the giant tree-men that had destroyed Isengard and founded a new tree kingdom there. With their sturdy horses and experience with long-range travel, the Horse-lords were among the most frequent and far-ranging of the travelers on the king's roads, and they all stopped in Osgiliath to see the fabled Eowyn and her husband.

The birdlike person leaned over the fire. "Tell me everything you know, please."

Joss straightened up at the invitation. She launched into the Song of Gandalf Balrog-Slayer, as written by Frodo Baggins during and after the War of the Ring. 

It was a long song and she didn't skip a single verse. She well knew the history of the War of the Ring, the downfall of Sauron and the triumph of Gondor, her home. She sang them certainty and history and the triumph of goodness, as the fire crackled and the faces of the two strangers flickered before her. The Dwarves at the other camp heard her begin and joined her with their deep rumbling voices.

When she finished the song, the Dwarves began a song of the defense of Erebor and the Greenwood from the armies of Sauron, which prompted the Greenwood Elves to join in.

She sat in silence, listening to the harmony behind her, thinking about Luindur's graying hair, thinking about the bear snoring beside them, thinking of Gandalf, remembering her history, both recent and ancient, and then she said: "You're one of the Blue Wizards." Another great lord of the world.

The wizard straightened up, slowly. He reached out his hand and the fire reached up blue tongues to meet him. "Do you have a name for me?" he asked. 

She glanced at the wagon with its painted finches and hummingbirds. "Your name is Gaffer Finch," she told him. 

Gaffer Finch nodded solemnly. 

*

After nightfall, as the singing faded into the stillness of deep night, Joss consulted with the other groups. The Elves had first watch, as they celebrated the stars, and the Dwarves woke early and took second watch; Joss happily took the reprieve and returned to the third fire. 

She watched Luindur help Gaffer Finch to his feet. The wizard seemed to be injured, or perhaps he was terribly old? She racked her memory, trying to remember if wizards were mortal or immortal. Elves and Wizards both lived for thousands of years; Elves always seemed young, while Gandalf was always described as an old man. When Elves were killed, their spirits left this world and their bodies returned to the ground like any other creature. Gandalf had been taken by the balrog and returned to the fight against Sauron, yet more powerful. 

The bear rolled onto his side, snoring louder. "We are retiring. The bear will not harm you unless you attack him. If you attack him, he will kill you very quickly, though, so I suggest another fire if you are prone to bad dreams," Luindur told her. 

"I hope we will speak further in the morning," Gaffer said. 

Joss nodded. "It's four or five days to Cair Andros. We have time." 

Luindur helped the wizard climb the stairs set into the front of the wagon and disappeared into the curtained opening behind him. Joss heard a door close behind the curtain and a bolt slide into place.

She looked at the sleeping bear. “I’m trusting you,” she said. The bear licked its nose. Joss settled herself on her sleeping pad with her sheathed sword sideways across her chest, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear is being played by a [Giant Short-faced bear](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Short-faced_bear). 
> 
> [Joss](https://hips.hearstapps.com/ell.h-cdn.co/assets/16/03/1600x800/landscape-1453323008-elle-taraji-p-henson-index.jpg?resize=980:*), for those unfamiliar with her.
> 
> Here is a [map of Middle Earth](http://lotrproject.com/map/#zoom=3&lat=-1477.89&lon=1648.055&layers=BTTTTTTTT) to keep you oriented. Places not on the map are made up with impunity. 
> 
> [The Blue Wizards](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Blue_Wizards).


	2. Chapter 2

When she awoke beside the small fire, pink fingers of dawn crept around the sharp peaks of the mountains. The bear was awake, lying beside the fire, watching the other camps with its ears pricked up. In the daylight she could see the dull mail that covered his harness like armor, and the lines of scruffy fur that marked old scars. There was a silver notch in his nose. 

Luindur emerged from the wagon. “Morco, sta,” he said. The bear grumbled to his feet. “Braaf,” he said, and fed the bear something from his hand. He pulled the bear's ears and stroked his nose, leaning against the bear's neck. 

“Good morning,” Joss said. 

“Good morning. I see you weren’t eaten.”

"No. What does he eat, if not Gondorians?"

"Anything we eat, more or less. He doesn't care for spice or vinegar. He does like ale and cram." Luindur showed her the dried fish in his hand, then fed it to the bear. 

"That must get expensive." 

Luindur shrugged. 

Joss saw to her own horse then.

Joss watched the riding goats bounce off the mountains. She waded in, grabbing the horns of one beast to stop it from butting an Elven horse again. "Nog!" a young dwarf yelled, shoving the haunches of the goat sideways. "Thou vicious hopping frog!" She swatted the goat with a handful of rope.

The goat mehhhed at her and leaped over her head with a twinkle of hooves. It found an early dandelion and ripped it up stem and root, chewing as it pranced around. The young dwarf sighed and looked around at her charges. She was short, with a fresh young face and bright golden-orange hair and beard, in the fur trousers and vivid pink-purple shirt of the family Joss had noticed last night. Square blue embroidery edged the neck and laces of the shirt. 

"Driving bears and riding goats. I'm seeing all sorts of wonders today," Joss said.

"Ride we goats in the hills and ponies on the flat," the young dwarf said. "My master Bunur son of Bombur comes lately from the hills. Guard must I these beasts all night! Shall I as quick as a sneeze drive these dreadful creatures to the market. Trade them will I for two pennies and a sock." She extended her hand. "Be I Grist, daughter of Mist, late of Coal Ice Mountain and soon of the Glittering Caverns."

"Well met," Joss said, shaking her hand. "Joss, daughter of Jossif, Ranger of Gondor. But if I remember my stories correctly, Bombur is a dwarf of Erebor; I think you have had a long road."

"Have I not? Have I indeed! Collapse did the cave of my family in the furthest Grey Mountains in the north in the cold, and myself the oldest of my siblings. Traveled did we to the great, empty Erebor! Halted were we on the edges of Mirkwood by a flight of spiders and yet more monsters! Saw I Elves then! Terrible and beautiful they were. Hunt spiders did my lady Tauriel, and slay many spiders did she with sword and bow, yet most kind was she to young Dwarves. Great she is," Grist said, nodding firmly. "When dead were the spiders, proceed did we to the great kingdom of Erebor. Stern-shouldered Erebor, deeply hewn, the place of battles and the death of many kings. Comfortable we were not in that grave place! Come the spring did we hear of Bunur traveling to the south, to join there Gimli Glóin-son. Caveless are we, and many are the glittering caverns. Home are we soon. If goats I must catch, then goats I shall catch, and glad am I that my way is so cheaply bought," the young dwarf concluded. "This is the tale of Grist, daughter of Mist." 

"Well met indeed! Welcome to Gondor!" Joss said. 

Grist beamed. Abruptly, she whirled and slapped a goat's horn open-handed. "Thou thieving troll-son!" she yelled. The goat bounced away, and she chased after it, one long braid unraveling as she ran. 

An Elf guard peered at the ground, slowly bent and picked up a rawhide thong, Grist's hair tie. "Give it to her when she returns," Joss advised. 

"Indeed," the Elf replied. "What a strange day." He slipped the thong into his pocket. 

"Joss, Ranger of Gondor," Joss said, bowing. 

"Lagorwae of the Woodland Realm." The guard bowed in the same degree that Joss bowed. He had a thin, fine-boned face with a snub nose and swooping ears; he was dressed in ordinary green and brown. "Soon to be of Ithilien. I expect with my lord's love of the Dwarf, such days will become commonplace."

"My mother always said that strong arms need strong bones. All of us, Men, Elves, and Dwarves, need to love each other on the good days so that we can stand each other on the bad," Joss said. 

Lagorwae raised his eyebrows with half a smile. "She said this of Elves and Dwarves?" 

"She said it of me and my father. She was right, though! You take the good times and that gets you through the bad. And this is a good time." 

"Hm," Lagorwae said. "Doubtless this time is better than the time of Sauron, I suppose, and we haven't seen any bloody damn spiders. I am sick to death of fighting spiders." He scowled up at the mountains.

"We should be free of spiders. There used to be a great spider in Cirith Ungol, to the south, but she was slain by Samwise the Brave and left no offspring in her place. Plus, we travel with a wizard."

Lagorwae straightened up excitedly. "Do we indeed? Is it Mithrandir? Is he joining us?" Other Elves caught the name and approached, looking as excited as Elves ever did. 

"No. The blue wizard. Who else would be driving a bear like a horse?" Joss nodded at the trailing wagon. 

"Oh." Lagorwae's face and shoulders fell. "With the dark creature." 

"Why call him a dark creature? He is less dark than I am," Joss said. 

"No, I do not mean his skin or hair. The physical form means nothing. But he is a Variag," Lagorwae said. 

"He is not a Variag!" another Elf said. "He is a troll-man! You can tell from his height and the darkness of his anima." 

"He is a werewolf," said a third. 

"He is neither a werewolf nor a troll-man!" Lagorwae snapped. 

"You are unlearned," the third Elf said. Lagorwae stiffened. 

"You are all unlearned," the second Elf said. Joss was bracing herself for a fistfight when Tauriel called out to them in sharp, loud Elvish. The three Elves broke apart, saddling their horses with jerky, furious movements, making the horses snort and sidle. 

Tauriel rolled her eyes at Joss. Joss hid her smile and saddled her own horse. 

*

Joss approached Bernard and helped him secure the tack on the big horses that drew his wagon. "He's a wizard."

"A wizard! The tall one?" 

"No, the old one. His name is Gaffer Finch. The tall one goes by Luindur. And the bear didn't eat me last night, so it looks like he's friendly enough. They're looking for Gandalf; do you have any knowledge of him?" 

"Gandalf! No, indeed. Gandalf! Wouldn't it be a thing to meet Gandalf."

"Gandalf?" Bunur said, climbing up into the wagon. His riding goat was tethered to the rear. "My father and uncle speak of Gandalf often. He has gone into the West with their old friend Bilbo Baggins. They had a letter with the news from his cousin Frodo Baggins, for Bilbo was too feeble to write in the end. I hope he has found his strength in the Undying Lands."

"So Gandalf is definitely gone from this land?"

"Unless he turned back, but I cannot imagine that any Elf-Friend would," Bunur said. "It's not a place for Dwarves, of course. We have our own halls, and so do Men," he said with a nod to Joss.

"Thank you, sir," Joss said. 

It was time for the company to move. She let the train pass her until she found Luindur at the tail. He nodded to her as she turned to walk beside the wagon.

The bear moved quickly enough on his long legs, but stopped frequently to snuffle up beetles and tender plants, which seemed to bother Luindur not at all. "Not a very efficient draft beast," Joss said. 

"Efficiency isn't everything. He once tore the head off a full-grown warg." 

Joss watched the bear munch day-lily stems. "Did he, now?" 

Luindur had a small smile on his lips. "Unless that was his mother. She was quite the fighter."

"Does he have a name?"

He shook his head. "He knows who he is. Bears don't need names to tell one from another, nor do they need a name to know their purpose. Not like us."

"Your name tells you who you are?" 

"I'm a different person as Luindur than I am as Madglammer—but then, I am a long way and a long time distant from that person. You have been called different things in your time, I am sure?" 

She considered. "Ranger Joss is a different person than Mama," she said. 

"Mama, indeed? You do not seem old enough."

"Old enough that my son Taylor is nearly a man."

"I am a poor judge of human age," Luindur said. 

"I'll take it as a compliment on my looks. But yes, I'm a mother, and a grandmother inside ten years, I'll wager."

"Is your son a warrior as well?" 

"A journeyman mason."

"One who builds," Luindur said. His face brightened, just for a moment. 

"We live in Osgiliath. There's plenty of building to do."

"Osgiliath. I last saw that city a long time ago...a very long time. It was a place of wonders. It was taken by Sauron, wasn't it?"

"It was taken and retaken several times. Each time there was less to reclaim. You must have seen it before the war?"

"Which war? I saw it before several great wars and many small ones."

"The war with Sauron?"

"There have been two wars with Sauron. I fought in both," Luindur said, giving her a sidelong look. He let the look hang before he finally let his eyes crinkle and said: " _Against_ the Dark Lord. I know the Greenwood Elves are telling you stories, but I am not so fell a creature as that. We fought in the eastern foothills of the Ephel Dúath, by the plains of Lithlad."

"The two of you?" 

"Yes. My dear companion wore himself to a shade in the war. We laid thousands of dead on the plains. Tens of thousands, over months and years, until the winds were fouled with decay and the rivers ran black with blood." The hints of emotion drained from his face as he spoke, leaving him once again stone-faced. "He built his forces in the east, you see. The war started earlier there. Much earlier. He did not move against the western lands until the end, and then only because the Ring was in the west."

"I never thought of that," Joss said. 

"No. You are a Westerner and think every land east of Gondor is Sauron's domain. But if that were true, between Harad and Rhûn, we would have overrun you long ago. People of the east are no different than people of Gondor: families and friends, needs and hungers, enmities and rivalries, loyalties and love. It is only that the language is different."

She nodded, thinking about the Easterlings she had seen. Her own family was from Harad in the near past and from beyond Harad in the distant past. The family story was that two hundred years ago, her ancestors had come north from beyond the Shoulders of the World herding oliphaunts to supply the armies of Haradwaith. Once the oliphaunts were all delivered, the herders had moved north again into Harondor and started tending cows, which were much easier to herd than oliphaunts. That, her mother had said, was why her family was brown of skin and black of hair when the bulk of Gondorians were much paler. Her ancestors had lived in a land with different stars.

"Were you old enough to fight in the battles of the west?" Luindur asked.

"I was fifteen during the siege of Minas Tirith. Too young for the guard, but I did fight. I helped carry stones to the catapult. They only called the guard to arms, but everyone could see what a fix we were in, with all the hordes of Sauron before the city walls. We formed ranks on every tier—Minas Tirith has seven tiers, you see." 

"I have seen it," Luindur said, watching her. 

"I lived on the second tier of the city, so we were squarely in range of the arrows and catapults. The soldiers told us to stay in the inner buildings, away from the walls, but we saw and heard everything. So we started helping. I was always strong, so I carried stones in a barrow and loaded the catapults. I have some unimpressive battle wounds," she said. She unbuttoned her cuff and rolled up her sleeve, showing him the speckled scars on her forearm. "A stone hit the house near our position. I was riddled with splinters of stone."

"A valiant wound. It is no small thing to look the enemy in the face and fight back."

"There was nowhere to run, and it's not in my nature to hide," Joss said. "And then I met my husband in the houses of healing." She smiled. "He was a carter. Same age as me, too young to be a warrior. He was bringing water to the troops when he took an arrow to the foot. He ended up losing the leg to infection. But he recovered after a while, and King Elessar gave battle prizes to all those wounded, so we had enough that we could afford to marry."

"Flowers grow on ancient battlefields," Luindur murmured. “Elves do not scar often. It takes a blow of great might and great foulness. I bear only this.” He tilted his head and brushed his hair back. Above his pointed ear were four deeply graven marks in his scalp from which white hair grew.

“What did that?”

“Sauron himself, with his bare hand.” He shook his hair back into place. “I lost that battle. I am glad you won yours.”

They walked in silence, Joss thinking of the terror of the siege, the roar of mûmakil and blast of horns, the slow arc of a catapult stone as it closed unstoppably on her position. She had gone on long after her injury, knowing that if she stopped, she would succumb to terror, until finally the army of the dead led by King Elessar swept through the fields and the city and slew the remaining foes with their ghostly swords. That, too, had frightened her to the core. Eye after eye had looked at her, measuring whether she was of Gondor or Harad. Perhaps, if she had been older, if she had been armed, her brown skin would have placed her among the slain. She had watched with relief as the king dismissed them at the end of the battle. She shivered, thinking of them now. 

The curtain opened behind Luindur and Gaffer Finch emerged, bent and hobbling, and placed his hands on Luindur's shoulders. He straightened up with a sigh and a crack of bones. 

"Good morning," Joss said. 

"Good morning," Gaffer said. 

"I have learned from Bunur, son of Bombur—Bombur being a friend of Gandalf—that Gandalf has sailed into the West. He had it from Frodo Baggins, the Ringbearer, so I think his information is good."

Gaffer sighed irritably. "How rude of him. He could not have waited?" 

"It _has_ been twenty years since he wrote," Luindur said. "Shall we turn back?" 

"No. The orb suggests that we should continue. Something awaits us in the west, even if Gandalf does not. Thank you for discovering this for us, Ranger." 

Joss nodded. "What is the orb?" 

Gaffer's hands clenched on Luindur's shoulders. "A tool of my trade," he said. 

"May I see it? I have never heard of such a thing."

"Best that you not," Gaffer said.

*

That night, the Elves built their fire near to that of the blue wagon. Luindur watched them from his folding chair, but didn't object. He even accepted a pour of wine from their wineskin into his horn cup. 

Tauriel addressed Gaffer: “Are you kin to Mithrandir?” 

“I suppose I am, in a sense. Excuse me,” he said, and withdrew into the wagon, leaving the Elves with Luindur. 

Tauriel turned to Luindur, looking a little strained. “How long have you traveled with the wizard? You seem to be fast friends.” 

“Many years,” Luindur said. “After the reign of Queen Elzmi, but not long.” 

“Of—who?” Tauriel said. 

“Queen Elzmi of Arnhal?”

“I am not familiar with Arnhal,” Tauriel said. 

“It’s in the east. One of the kingdoms of Men on the shores of the East Sea, probably the richest; they make purple cloth and harvest pearls. Elzmi was a vampire—“

“A vampire!” Lagorwae cried. “Such things are myths.”

“She disdained food and drank only the blood of her subjects; call her what you like,” Luindur said. “She slew the king during the Turmoil and took the throne for sixty years, before the people in rebellion stormed the gate and burned her castle. She flew up from the roof on the wings of a bat, shrieking with a voice that froze men’s souls, but fortunately there was an Elf archer among the rebellion who was able to act, and struck her down with a silver-steel arrow. Since then, Arnhal has had no king, and elects instead a council of wise elders. This is the year of the three thousand one hundred and fifty-third Council.”

"Fifty-fourth," Gaffer said from within the wagon.

"Fifty-fourth," Luindur corrected.

“I have never heard any of this,” Tauriel said wonderingly. “But I have only six hundred years, and you have more than three thousand; you are as old as my king."

"Your king is Thranduil?" 

"He is, since his father fell at the battle of Dagorlad."

"That's right," Luindur murmured. "I did not see that battle, but as I recall, Oropher was killed and Thranduil rallied the troops—because Thranpher, his elder son, was killed long before then. I lose track of the order of things sometimes."

"Thranpher son of Oropher? He was killed fighting the fire-drakes in the north before the forging of the One Ring," Tauriel said. "I know him from stone carvings alone."

"He was a bold fellow, and merry. He never stopped singing. He hired me to help him beat back trolls from the northern border, so I knew him fairly well." Luindur tilted his head back, looking thoughtful. Tauriel was staring at him in open shock. "We discovered the fire-drakes at the end of that campaign and he asked me to continue onward, but I would not go so far north. I suppose the sons of the king felt they had no choice but to continue. Is Thranduil a good king? I may have some responsibility if he is not."

Tauriel opened her mouth, slowly, but Luindur continued before she could speak. "Of course you cannot answer that. You have had no other king. I recall Thranduil when he was barely more than a child, but that was a long, long time ago, and I was already old."

"How old?" Tauriel managed. "Why do we not know you?" 

Luindur shrugged. "I do not come so far west often. The wizard's work is in the east and I have never felt welcome in these lands. Thranpher did not mind my nature, but others are not so welcoming."

"But what is your nature?" Lagorwae burst out. He flushed, looking around at the other elves. Nobody else spoke. "You are—an ancient creature, but no Elf."

"Am I not?" Luindur said. 

"I. We." Lagorwae stared at the red-haired Elf beside him, the one who had argued Luindur was a troll-man. She kept her mouth firmly closed. "Are you a Variag?" he said desperately. 

"No."

"Are you a troll-man?" 

"Indeed no." 

"Are you a werewolf?"

"No." 

"Are you a dark elf?"

The wizard emerged from the wagon at these words. Luindur raised a steady hand, helping him down the stairs and onto the folding chair beside him. "Are you sure you want to know, child?" Luindur asked Lagorwae. 

"We mean no discourtesy," Tauriel said, looking daggers at Lagorwae.

Lagorwae ignored her. "I do." 

"Give me a plate and I will sing you the oldest song I know. My dear companion, I need you to translate for me."

"If you think that's wise," the wizard said. 

“Why not,” Luindur said.

The Greenwood Elves provided him with lembas and a quarter of rabbit. Luindur examined the lembas before he ate it and made a small "hm" noise. The rabbit went down with less examination, and the bear crunched the leg bones and gristle with relish. "Now," Luindur said. "My mother taught me this. She saw everything that happened, she and my father, for they were among the first Elves who woke in Cuiviénen." The younger Elves gasped at that, wide-eyed. 

Luindur searched through the firewood to hand until he found the right sort of stick, and began tapping out a rhythm against his boot. Joss heard it change a few times, gaining complexity, until he seemed to find what he was looking for. A moment later, he started singing. 

It wasn't like the Elf songs she was used to. It was low and weirdly shifting, using no harmonic progression she had ever heard. The Men and Dwarves listened, too, pipes in hand. 

"Oh, I'm not sure how to translate it," the wizard said, and Luindur shook his head and started humming the first part over again. "My dear! It's not nearly so beautiful in Westron. Well, the 144 Elves awoke on the shores of Helcar, and were found by Imin, but it's more lovely in the original tongue, as you can hear." 

Luindur gave him an exasperated look and continued. The bear, behind him, looked worried and raised his head. "And they—his parents, that is—were of the Nelyar, and started to invent a language to describe how lovely the world was," the wizard said. 

Luindur continued, a long passage that left the wizard's brow furrowed. "This is, ah, about the greatness of the lord Elwë and how much he loved the beauty of the world. I believe you know him as Thingol, he's quite a figure," the wizard said. 

Luindur shook his head again and nudged the wizard's shin with his boot. "My dear companion, I did say—" but the wizard broke off as Luindur began the next part, which involved some emphatic thumping. "Yes, there was a great war in the west which disrupted the stone of the land. The rivers changed course and the animals fled east. The sky was broken." 

The song was especially eerie in this part. Joss felt like she could hear the disturbed land just in the way Luindur's voice rose and fell. "Oromë the Hunter came east from the disturbed land into the peaceful realm of the Elves. He took the three kings west with him for many years, and when they returned, they had changed. Ah, the three kings are Elwë, Ingwë, and Finwë, but I expect you knew that already," the wizard said. 

The next part was low and sad, like a dirge. Luindur finished the passage and was humming it over again before the wizard spoke. "King Elwë had turned away from the stars and had the light of the west in his eyes. He was dazzled by Oromë. He asked us to come into the west...and we said no."

Tauriel, beside Joss, gasped. "Avari," she whispered. 

Lagorwae's eyes were enormous as Luindur continued singing. The final part was sweeter than the rest, almost a lullaby. "And this part is about how lovely the valley is and how glad they are that they weren't tempted into the west," the wizard said. "It is a truly beautiful place. We should return once our quest is done, my dear companion." 

Luindur sighed. His tapping ceased. "It's in good hands."

"But—the west," Lagorwae said. "Valinor." 

"What of it?" Luindur said. 

"It is—the west! It is the place where the sun rests!" 

"I'm an Elf. I love the stars," Luindur said. 

"But—it is—you turned away from the Valar!" 

"What of it?" 

Lagorwae sprang to his feet, his hands clenched, but Tauriel grabbed his belt. "We also have songs of the sundering of the Elves," Tauriel said in accented Elvish. "You know this history." 

Lagorwae inhaled. "You are cursed," he said.

"Well," Luindur said. "That's true enough." He leaned back against the bear and rubbed its ears. Lagorwae and most of the other Elves fled from the fire into the tent raised at the side of the Elven wagon, leaving only Tauriel.

Joss looked down at her pipe and took a twig from the fire to relight it. "I'd never heard this before," she said. 

"The Eldar prefer to pretend they're the only Elves. And there aren't many Avari left; most of us died. Some of us drifted west and mixed with the Eldar. Their children are Eldar, not Avari." 

Tauriel looked like she was going to object, but refrained; Joss spoke next. "Because their ancestors went to Valinor, that makes them Eldar?"

"Because they started to go to Valinor," Luindur said. "Most of them didn't go the entire way." 

Joss frowned. "I don't understand."

"The obedience is what counted. The more obedient to the Valar, the closer they got to Valinor, the more blessed. Silvans aren't very blessed. They stopped the journey first and they're heavily mixed with Avari," Luindur said. 

"That's not true!" Tauriel said. 

"No? Not true that you're not blessed, or not true that you're part Avari? None of your ancestors are 'of the East'? No mother's line? No strange warrior? No odd names?" 

Tauriel suddenly gasped; she put her hands to her mouth and retreated after Lagorwae. Luindur sighed. "You wondered why I don't care for my own kind. It is because they are not my kind," he said to the wizard. He drew back from the fire and sat with the bear. 

*

Luindur didn't sleep that night. When Joss closed her eyes, he was sitting on the box of the wagon, the bear stretched out before him. Every time Joss opened her eyes, he was still there, unmoving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Vampires](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Vampire) and [werewolves](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Werewolf) are in the canon! Arnhal is not, though. That's mine. 
> 
> [The Avari](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Avari).
> 
> I used ["Flow, my tears" by Toivo Tulev](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3dQ4nU3KDNo&list=PLYuwemqP0pWxVuHpoHkNwAcH7XfxymvUj&index=6&t=0s) as my inspiration for Avari singing.
> 
> [A map of the world drawn by Tolkien](https://i.stack.imgur.com/quroJ.jpg) showing the southern continent beyond Harad.


	3. Chapter 3

Joss nudged up her horse to the central wagons of Dale and Erebor. Bernard nodded at her. "Well, I still don't understand what an Avari is, but it has the Elves' hair in curls," he chuckled. 

"Leaving this world and sailing west is important to them and his ancestors didn't do it," Joss said. 

"I suppose," Bernard said. "But aren't they all leaving now?" 

"I think they did it twice? Once back in the first age, and they came back and now they're going again," Joss said, but that didn't sound right. Luindur said most of them stopped before they reached Valinor. "Or they didn't go the first time, and they're going now. Something like that."

Bernard shook his head. He cupped his hand over his mouth and said sidelong, "This is why we prefer Dwarves. Their feuds only go back to the Third Age." Bunur, on his riding goat beside the wagon, laughed. 

"What feuds lie between the Dwarves these days?" Joss asked. 

"Well!" Bunur sat back on his goat, which tossed its head. "Nolo, head of the Miner's Guild of the Iron Hills, wishes to return to the mines of Moria to cleanse them of goblin scum, but Thorin Stonehelm thinks that is still too dangerous; however, Thís daughter of Thorin looks kindly upon Nolo, whose beard is as red as garnets and as luxurious as moss after rain." Bunur waggled his eyebrows. 

"Oh my," Joss said. 

"What I hear," Bunur said, tilting his head knowingly, "is that Thís will ask Nolo to be her husband soon, and as a marriage gift, will ask for the mines to be reopened. She is a mighty warrior and a great war-leader; she fought in the vanguard during the defense of Erebor against the Easterlings during the war, though she was but young. If anyone can take back Moria, it is Thís." 

"She sounds like quite a lady," Joss said. 

"Aye. Were I inclined to marriage, I would have courted her. But I am not, so she is a valiant friend. I think she has already proposed to Nolo," Bunur said, his eyes twinkling over his beard. 

"You gossip," Bernard said. 

"Gossip! Me!" Bunur laughed, and Bernard joined him. 

They had closed the distance with the Elves as they spoke; the Elves looked cross and annoyed. Joss looked over her shoulder, marking the distance to the blue wagon. It had fallen far behind as the bear stopped to dig up something from the ground. 

"At least that dark elf keeps his distance," Tauriel said. 

"Do you think it's only chance that meant your parties met?" Joss asked.

"I do not know. We have met no enemies on the road; we have seen no witch-weather to delay us. But perhaps a wizard has ways of seeing at a distance, without being seen," Tauriel said. 

"I know little of wizards," Joss said. 

"Who does know anything of wizards? Radagast the Brown lived in Mirkwood for a thousand years, I am told, unseen to the very kingdom in which he dwelled. I thought I patrolled every inch of the woods but never once did he cross my path, not until he wished to be seen. And the Avari…" She made a face. 

"Now, explain again why being an Avari is so terrible? He's some sort of bad Elf?" Bernard asked.

"He is an Elf that has looked in the face of a god and denied him," Tauriel said. "He has refused the light of Valinor."

"Right," Bernard said, his voice quizzical.

"That creature is no true Elf. I don't care what he claims," another Elf said. 

"Caralloth, we cannot deny him as our kind," Tauriel said. 

Caralloth lifted her chin. "There are fell creatures in the east that hunt Orcs and kill them, but not from virtue."

Tauriel shook her head. 

"They bathe in the blood of the Orcs they slaughter," Caralloth continued. 

"Indeed?" Bernard said, his eyebrows raised. "And what's the point of that?" 

"The evillest of magic."

"Seems unhygienic. You'll get an infection that way."

Caralloth looked annoyed at the reception of her story. She was a young Elf, Joss thought, and full of pride. "The worst creature is called _Madglamm_ because he swallows Orcs like an empty well."

"That sounds terrifying," Joss said, trying to put a little heat into it to mollify the Elf. 

"The east is overrun with evil Men and Orcs," Caralloth said. "Sauron's influence ran deep. Nothing good comes from the east." 

"Dorwinion wine," Bernard said. 

"Nothing east of the Sea of Rhûn." Caralloth turned up her nose and set her horse prancing back to the head of the column. 

Joss raised her eyebrow at Bernard and dropped back, meeting Luindur's eyes as she waited by the side of the road. Her horse tossed her head a few times, but was growing used to the bear. 

"What have they been telling you of me?" Luindur asked. 

"That nothing good comes from east of the Sea of Rhûn. That dark elves aren't really Elves." 

"So far, so true. What else?” 

"That a fell creature called Madglammer bathes in the blood of Orcs." 

"She said Madglamm," Luindur said. 

She hadn't thought their voices carried so far. She wasn't surprised he had heard them anyway. " _You_ said Madglammer." 

Luindur shrugged. "Accents. I don't bathe in the blood. I don't do anything with the blood of Orcs." 

"That's good."

"We bury the bones in the grape vines," Gaffer said. He came through the curtain and sat on the wagon box beside Luindur. "To bring the bodies home."

"He's sentimental," Luindur said. 

"Sentimental?" 

"Oh, you didn't tell her. Orcs are descended from Elves, Ranger. Twisted by Morgoth and unrecognizable as such, but still, it's quite true. They all know their bloodline, you see, and they can all trace it back to their Elf ancestors. Orcs have the most interesting minds," Gaffer said. 

Her mind was spinning, so she just nodded. "Do they? I've never spoken to one."

"Oh yes. They are incapable of singing—"

"Except for the Great Goblin," Luindur said.

"—but they—" Gaffer stopped short. "The Great Goblin! My dear companion! I refuse to have this argument again!" 

"Everyone knows his little songs." 

"You know very well that the Great Goblin was one of the Maiar—" 

"It's just a theory—"

"—and his magical presence is entirely unlike that of Orcs—"

"Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!" Luindur sang.

"—and I can scarcely call that a song!" 

Luindur snickered. 

" _Well_ ," Gaffer said, glaring at Luindur. "As I was saying, _true Orcs_ are incapable of singing and thus are cut off from true creation. Their craft is imitative rather than creative, but that doesn't mean it is crude, and it doesn't mean they cannot learn. They learn a great deal, and pass down a great deal in the form of memorized histories, which means that their technology builds year on year. They also have advanced forms of mathematical notation. It's all very necessary, you know, because they live together in such numbers. Orcs are immortal, like Elves, but they reproduce at the rate of humans. A hundred-year-old she-Orc can have as many as fifty children!" 

"Goodness," Joss said. 

"So in addition to being mathematical, they are resourceful. A little must go a long way. They waste nothing. It's why they have the habit, so upsetting to humans and Elves, of eating their dead."

"Oh," Joss said. 

"I have been studying the various Orc societies—Mordor Orcs being quite different from Arnhal Orcs, as you know, and different again from the far northern ice-walking Orcs—for over a thousand years. All of them can trace their ancestry back to the beginning of their line. They all know, each and every individual. It's remarkable. They keep a knotted string somewhere on their person that marks their entire ancestry—they use the knots as memory aids in reciting the names."

"So this is how we know they're all my cousins," Luindur said. 

Joss just blinked. Words deserted her. 

"Not all. But...many. So we bring them back to the home they should have known whenever we can," Gaffer said. 

"Because he’s sentimental.”

"Very well, I’m sentimental! I think that the Orcs can learn to coexist with the rest of the peoples of the world if they simply have enough access to farming and other food supply systems," Gaffer said. "Right now the situation is, well, to be frank, the decimation of the Orc population has eased certain pressures on the life of an Orc. Far less strain on shelter, land, and so forth. Of course they have lost a great deal of historical knowledge and military skill with the death of so many soldiers, but the female Orcs in general did not go into the front lines, and they hold the bulk of the plant-lore and building-knowledge. I think that we can build on this relative peace if we can find a way to forgive the slaughter of the past. And Orcs are so very practical. I think it can be done, if we can only persuade the Men and Elves in their turn."

Gaffer tapped his folded fingers against his chin. Joss just looked at him, astonished. 

"Do you think it could be done? Could you live in peace with an Orc?" Gaffer asked. 

"Could it live in peace with me? I've never seen one that wasn't trying to kill me," Joss said. 

"Certainly there would be a period of adjustment. Probably a long one. But a fellow mother, with her child? Could you speak to her of porridge and diapers?"

"I...guess so?" Joss said. "I honestly don't know."

 

"If we could restore their capacity for true creation, of course, that's my long term goal…" Gaffer mused.

"We can't," Luindur said. 

"You don't know that. You only know that we haven't so far." 

Luindur's face was fixed, stonelike. "We can't," he repeated.

*

Come nightfall, the other Elves kept their fire very far away from the blue wagon. Luindur leaned back against the bear. He fed the bear and himself from a bag of dried fish, first gnawing out the cheeks and eyes of the fish, then passing the rest to the bear to crunch down with relish. 

"My dear companion," Gaffer said. His mouth was gathered tightly under his nose.

"I got a taste for it in Blethek Lithlad," Luindur said, looking at him fondly. He took another fish from the bag and scraped his teeth over the head with relish.

"Chew some mint before coming to bed," Gaffer sighed. He handed Joss seed cake and kumquats and a measure of light ale. 

"Thank you," Joss said. She glanced back into the wagon, but the curtain blocked her view. "How do you fit so much in there?" 

"I'm a wizard," Gaffer said. 

"Yes, but—" 

"And I'm a soldier," Luindur said. 

"Mm-hm."

"We do a lot with a little," Luindur said. 

She looked at the bag in his hand and the ale jug in Gaffer's. "You have a bed in that wagon big enough for two people, one of them excessively tall. You have some kind of magical equipment in there. You have chairs. And you have enough food to feed a bear and two people on a journey of many months. I ride this route because I'm curious about things like that." 

"We also have books, maps, and fishing poles," Luindur said, his voice light with amusement.

"It is a magic cabinet of ancient make," Gaffer said, relenting. "An Elf-witch, long ago when magic was still wild, constructed two matching cabinets. Objects placed into one are accessible from either. A friend in Hildorien keeps us supplied in traveling food."

"Should have kept her puzzled," Luindur said, shaking his head. 

"So you may place notes in the cabinet and communicate instantly. Can you transport a person in that way? A small person, a child or a Hobbit perhaps, could climb inside—"

"I do not experiment with life in that way," Gaffer said sharply. 

Luindur returned to the wagon. "Time passes strangely in the cabinet," he said. "Sometimes newly appeared ale has gone stale. Sometimes dried fruit returns to ripeness. We have not put any live thing inside." 

"Oh," Joss said. "But you could send messages!"

"We could. But I have nothing to say to our person in Hildorien," Gaffer said. He retreated back inside the wagon.

Luindur retrieved a leather work-bag and sat cross-legged by the fire. He began to grind two rocks together carefully, catching the splinters in a cloth in his lap.

The rocks were black glass from the plains of Gorgoroth, she thought, and Luindur was making arrowheads. Glass arrows would shatter on armor but slice flesh to ribbons. She said nothing, eating and watching him work. 

He was a great craftsman. He had a half-dozen arrowheads made before she finished eating. She tarried to watch him trim the feathers and bind head and feathers to the prepared shafts. The resulting arrow was slender, needle-tipped, such a weapon as one might use to pierce the body of a bird or the eye of a man. She had never seen the like. 

"Steel arrows may be made with less skill, but black glass is abundant. I am teaching my cousins these old skills. One little cousin is experimenting with spring-traps for the bats in the mountains." 

"Little cousin? An Orc?" 

Luindur nodded. "Those who are willing to listen to my dear companion must gain something in return, to help them live without preying on the realms of Men and Elves." 

"And you call them all cousin." 

"Most of them. Not all. Some Orcs were made from Men. Some that call themselves Orcs are Maiar—although I think they all are dead. Some that are called Orcs call themselves something else. Uruk-Hai are not Orcs, for they were created out of earth and magic by Saruman and are not truly alive. Uruk-Hai I slay without conversation." 

"But you talk to Orcs first?" 

"They're family," Luindur said. "I owe them that much." 

Joss packed up the remnants of dinner, deep in thought, and brought them to the wagon. The curtain was open to allow the breeze and she could not help glancing inside to see the magic cabinet.

"Do not—" Luindur said, but she had seen it already: Gaffer, looking into an enormous sphere made of glass—no, crystal—no, gemstone, it could only be a gem—but containing something—fog? Not fog, but something alive, something moving, the same blue as Gaffer’s robes, but formless. Containing too many forms; it contained what looked like a wing, then a fin, then a leaf, then the sea. The more she looked at it, the more she saw. 

“Look away,” Luindur said into her ear. 

How could she stop looking? She saw a great fish, she thought, unless it was a flash of cloth, unless the cloth was a mouse, unless the mouse was the sky, unless the sky was a jewel, unless the jewel was an eye, unless— 

"Joss daughter of Jossif and mother of Taylor, look away," Luindur said. 

She shut her eyes and turned away bodily. She breathed, sharply, in and out.

The blue cleared from her eyes and she looked at the mountains. Purple skies shading into black star-sparkling night hung overhead. Green shrubs clung to the bare black stone. The shaggy brown bear clawed up a nest of beetles and ate them enthusiastically, licking them off the ground with a long tongue and crunching their glittering shells. “Is it alive?” Joss asked Luindur.

Luindur was silent for a long moment. She glanced at him and found his brow drawn; he was evidently deep in thought. “What is life?” he said, finally. “It changes over time. It has awareness. I suppose it lives, yes.” 

“Is that a palantir?” 

“It is to a palantir what my dear companion is to a mouse,” Gaffer said. She did not look at him. 

"It is too much to look upon," Luindur said. "It is too much to comprehend. I try not to look at it." 

Gaffer drew the curtain and sat on the wagon box with a small sigh of pain. "It lets me see everything," he said to Joss. "Best not to think of it." 

She rubbed her face. "I have been told not to meddle in the affairs of wizards."

"Such tools have warped the hearts of Men before," Gaffer said. "Sleep by the fire of Men tonight. Remember who you are." 

She took his advice and joined Bernard and Bunur and sang merry songs long into the night. She thought of the depths of the orb as little as she was able.


	4. Chapter 4

On the third day, Joss rode with Tauriel and talked about hair. It was an amusing change of pace. 

Joss had started by asking how Tauriel managed such long hair on the road and discovered, to her disgust, that Elven hair simply didn't tangle. The other Elves concurred. Tauriel exclaimed over the pomades and various combs that Joss used to keep her spiral curls from filling with grass seed and wind-knots. "I had no notion. Is this why Men keep their hair so short?" Tauriel said. "I had thought it was simply fashion." 

"Part fashion, part practicality."

"Men were startling to my eye when we began commerce with Dale after so many years apart. Such small ears, I did not think at first that you could hear. And such...un-elven faces," Tauriel said with a small guilty look on her face. 

"I know we are terribly ugly to Elven eyes," Joss said. 

"No!" said Lagorwae. "You are not the least ugly." 

"No, indeed!" Tauriel echoed. "Not all. You are most comely. More comely than that Avari, certainly."

"You think he's ugly?" She stopped herself from glancing back. The dark elf was striking, she thought, with his clean jaw and large ears echoing the strong line of his cheekbone. The bumpy arch of his nose was unfortunate, she supposed, but overall he was handsome enough.

"His eyes are squinting and his brows are flat. And his nose! He has a face like a broken branch," Tauriel whispered. 

Lagorwae snickered. "Still not as troll-faced as—" He looked at Tauriel and shut his mouth, beginning to blush.

"Go on," Tauriel said. 

Lagorwae flushed red to the roots of his hair. "Not as troll-faced as my lord Legolas," he muttered. 

"And make that the last time you say it. He is a great hero in this land. I dare say Elessar finds his ears long enough," Tauriel said, which made Lagorwae cover his mouth. Tauriel rolled her eyes and leaned toward Joss. "The line of Oropher is known for skill of hand," she said in a low voice. "Oropher was...unfortunate in his face. Of his sons, Thranduil is the more favored, but Legolas looks very like his grandfather."

"No!" Joss said. "I've only seen him at a distance." 

"He is a very good friend and a formidable warrior. His father my king is like a living sword. And the paintings of the royal family are _very_ flattering to their eyebrows," Tauriel said, sending Lagorwae into another flood of embarrassed giggles. 

"Queen Arwen is a noted beauty, I think," Joss said. 

"Oh, goodness, yes. She is the granddaughter of Galadriel, noted for her beauty for four ages of the world, and the daughter of Elrond. Did you ever see Elrond Half-Elven?" Tauriel asked Lagorwae. 

"I have seen paintings." Lagorwae's blush, which had been subsiding, roared in his cheeks again. "He looks very well indeed."

"He has eyes as large as pools and the finest brows in Eriador, bar only those of his twin sons, each of which is more comely than the other. And they're both still unmarried."

Lagorwae sighed. "I would not dare."

"So eyes and ears make a beautiful Elf?" Joss asked. 

"That is the greatest part. And though your ears are round, they are well-shaped; your eyes are large and brilliant, your nose is delicately sloped, and your brows have a pleasing arch. You are a lovely woman," Tauriel said, and Joss had to smile. 

"Thank you. You're both lovely to human eyes, but I have to admit that Luindur is handsome as well."

Lagorwae shook his head. "What a name. Calling himself a servant."

"He gave me a few others he uses. Nurgris?" 

"Sounds like an Orc," Lagorwae scoffed.

"Eisjo?" 

Tauriel frowned. "That sounds human."

"And Madglamm."

Tauriel jumped in her saddle. "You cannot have heard that right." 

"Pretty sure I did," Joss said. 

"Madglamm the Orc-Eater? The monster?" Lagorwae asked. 

"Don't be a fool. Madglamm was one of the foreign foes of Sauron during the time of the War of the Last Alliance. He led an army of Elves on the far side of Mordor. The Avari is Madglamm?" Tauriel turned to look over her shoulder, but Luindur was out of sight. "Are you sure?" she asked Joss. 

"That is what he said, and I believe him," Joss said simply. "I do not think he has given me any untruths."

"He puzzles me. I wish I had my king's counsel; he knows far more of the East. The borders were open before the Greenwood fell under the influence of Sauron."

"Captain," Lagorwae said, standing in his stirrups. "Something is coming." 

Tauriel stood as well. She brought bow and arrow to bear on the road ahead. The rest of the Elves joined her, poised and still, listening intently. 

It was a moment before Joss heard what they heard, and another few moments before a strange sled whizzed into view. "Hello!" a brown-clad figure called. "Hello! Hello! Goodbye!" The figure in the sled passed at incredible speed, the sled drawn by—rabbits? 

Joss and the Elves followed the figure, Tauriel outpacing her instantly, bow still drawn. She did not fire, though. The figure kept going until they reached the blue wagon, when it swerved, skidding crazily across the road, and the rabbits drawing it came to a stop. The sled itself ended up in the bushes by the roadway, tipped onto its side. Luindur looked at it, eyebrows raised. The bear looked at the rabbits.

"Sta, morco," Luindur said. The bear reached his head down and sniffed at the huge rabbits. "Morco! Sta! Tcha, rabbits, go on!" He stomped his foot against the wagon box. The rabbits ignored him. The bear looked up at him quizzically. Gaffer poked his head through the curtain. 

Joss dismounted and approached the sled. One brown-shod foot showed above the side of the sled, with ragged brown trousers above it. 

"Radagast?" Gaffer called. 

The brown shoe twitched. What looked like an elderly man pulled a branch from his face. "Elder brother!" 

"My word. Radagast the Brown. The youngest of us all save Mithrandir. Help me down, my dear companion." 

"I'm trying to keep the bear from eating his rabbits," Luindur said. He stepped from the wagon and knelt on the bear's shoulders, muttering into its ear. 

Joss gave him a hand instead, letting him lean on her shoulder. Tauriel picked the brown wizard out of the shrubbery and tried to brush dirt off him, stopping when part of his sleeve fell away. The wizard didn't seem to mind. He had crooked hair, crooked teeth, crooked eyebrows. He opened his arms and cried "Brother!" 

Gaffer looked distressed. "...My friend. Good to see you. Are you aware you have live squirrels in your coat?" 

"Of course! No insulation better." Radagast embraced him as Gaffer winced. "We shall sail together!" 

"Sail? I have no plans to sail."

"We have all been called, brother! Now that Sauron is defeated, we can go home! Gandalf has already gone!" 

"I have not been called," Gaffer said. He looked at Luindur, obviously worried. Luindur looked back expressionlessly.

"We all were, it was very clear! Sauron is gone, come back to the Undying Lands!" 

"Let us talk. My dear companion, please continue along the road," Gaffer said. He ushered the brown wizard into the wagon. 

Joss and Tauriel looked at the sled and the rabbits.

*

Grist ended up driving the rabbit sled, whooping with delight as the rabbits flew over the roadway. They did not seem to have gaits other than "standing" and "galloping." "Run, you furry fiends!" she cried out, disappearing around the bend in the road. 

Radagast and Gaffer sat inside the wagon, arguing in voices too low for Joss to eavesdrop. Luindur looked increasingly stiff as he sat astride the bear, the stone of his face extending to his neck, shoulders, spine. 

Gandalf had sailed into the West with the Elves. But Luindur was not an Elf like the Elves she knew; Luindur was Avari. He could not sail, or would not. 

He was losing his companion. They had been together over three thousand years, he had said. She had had her husband for fifteen years and missed him desperately. “Luindur,” she said softly, looking at him. 

He didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed in the distance. 

She heard Grist’s joyful cries coming back toward them. But—no, not joyful, she thought, and she kicked her horse into a quick canter to the head of the train. 

“Wargs!” Grist was shouting, as she rode the rabbit sled back toward Joss and Tauriel. Two hideous beasts were galloping behind her. Gaining on her. 

Tauriel had her bow at the ready but did not fire until Grist, bouncing roughly on the sled, had gone past the head of her horse; then she fired, striking one warg in the rear leg. 

Joss struck out with her sword but missed the second warg; it dodged into the trees. She saw someone in the corner of her eye and turned, backing her horse against Tauriel’s, and saw Luindur beside her astride the bear. 

Luindur leaned forward, clinging to the bear's shoulders with his legs, and the bear stood at its full height, stretched out his arms, and roared at the wargs. 

The harness the bear wore was armor. The leather was double-thickness reinforced with mail. On the chest of the bear, embedded in the piece protecting his vast heart, was a steel emblem of a circle crossed with a bar. 

The bear was as big as a troll. Eleven, twelve feet tall, arms like pillars, legs like trees, his round head as big as a shield. From his shoulders, Luindur rose still taller, his double swords swinging above the tops of the trees. The Elvish horses shrieked and shied away. The wargs, hurt and unhurt, crouched in the roadway before the bear’s fury. 

When the unhurt warg snarled and lurched for the bear’s stomach, its teeth skidded off the armor. The bear fell on it and smashed it to the ground with both paws. Luindur leaped from his shoulders and onto the second warg.. 

He beheaded the warg with one stroke as the bear bit down on the neck of the other, killing it instantly. He looked up at her, teeth bared, eyes bright, a gout of black warg blood across his face. He looked vicious; he looked like no Elf Joss had ever seen. Behind her, the Elvish horses bucked and danced away from the bear and the dead wargs. Joss’s Rohan horse was nervous, watching the beast, but not panicked.

Luindur’s face changed and he looked into the woods as he wiped the blood from his face. He examined the ground, climbed a tree with a jump and a scramble and examined a branch. He slipped down, looked at Joss, and walked into the woods. 

The bear put both front paws on the warg and bit at its soft belly. Joss led her horse to the trees and looped the reins over a branch. She followed Luindur. 

She could tell by the line of his back that he knew she was there. He was following what was starting to look like a trail. She judged how close they were to Henneth Annûn; not close enough for this to be an old ranger’s trail, she decided.

She found out sooner than she imagined. Luindur suddenly stopped and dropped to one knee, looking under the roots of a massive tree. He said something in what she thought had to be Black Speech.

She didn't know what he said; she only recognized the harsh tones and soft consonants that made every word sound like a snarl. She wondered, suddenly, what language the song he had sung them was in, that Gaffer needed to translate and none of the other Elves knew. She wasn't surprised when three Orcs crawled out of the roots of the tree. 

Luindur held up his hand, indicating that she shouldn't attack. She nodded. All three Orcs resembled each other, small and slim with thin, sharp faces and ashen grey skin like stone. They had short-cropped hair and Joss couldn't tell if they were boys or girls. She felt like they were young.

Luindur continued to speak to the Orcs in rough Black Speech, his voice returned to its usual calm, soft rasp. He settled down cross-legged after a while and the three Orcs pulled long three-stranded knotted strings from around their necks. Luindur tugged a single string from around his neck, displaying it in turn. They glanced at Joss nervously and returned their looks to Luindur as he touched the three knots on the string and said something she didn't understand—unless they were names; it sounded like he said "Ondwë, Canwë, Caniyë." The three Orcs responded with a long, memorized recitation of what Joss guessed was a string of names, followed with an excited chatter of Black Speech, answered more softly by Luindur. 

Luindur looked at her, finally. "My little nieces say they know you. They say you ride this road frequently.”

"That's accurate," Joss said. "Do they understand Westron?" 

"Yes, we know your language," the oldest said. 

"It's just easier to talk about Orc things in the Orc tongue," Luindur said. "Girls, this is Joss, Ranger of Gondor. Joss, these are my great-nieces, Hezigh, Shelagh, and Gorlagh." All three looked at her with the wary eyes of foxes: not defenseless but aware of the danger she posed and ready to run. 

"Their father was Heg, son of Rezog, son of Bolg, son of Azog, also known as Ashlot, son of Nurlash and Nuriyë, who were part of my tribe. Their mother was Shethmagh and her father was called Gothmog, also known as as my brother Giðwë. Orcs mature slowly; even the oldest is only thirty, not yet of age. They are my kin on both sides of the family so I have told them I will help them. Do you have a bag or cloth you would be willing to sacrifice?"

Luindur wasn't wearing his large black cloak. He must have dropped it when he unhitched the bear. Joss slipped off her own cloak and handed it to him. 

"Thank you," Luindur said, and he crawled into the space beneath the tree, still talking. Joss and the Orcs all leaned closer to hear him. "The balrogs and lieutenants of Morgoth came to the valley that was my home," he said.

"The western mouth of the valley is very narrow, so my brother and I stood shoulder to shoulder and said he would not enter. Sauron, lieutenant of Morgoth, said he would enter. I did not know who Sauron was, of course; I only knew he was an evil thing. He took us each by the head and cracked our skulls in his hands. I seemed dead. He cast me into the vines, where I lay for many days until the bears of the valley woke me and I found that all the rest of my kin had been taken. The first Orcs, the most cunning and cruel, were Elves changed at his hands." Luindur emerged holding a skull, arm bones, leg bones, a pelvis, a spine, all clean and white with visible tooth marks. The long bones had been cracked open for the marrow. "How long ago did he die?" he asked the Orcs. 

"Twelve years ago," the central Orc said. She was small and serious-faced, while her taller sisters seemed younger. 

"Gothmog died at the battle of Pelennor Fields," Luindur said. "That was three-and-twenty years ago. So—what happened?" 

"Gag told us to stay hidden while he went to the war," the brown-haired Orc said. "Gag returned hurt riding on wargs. In time Gag died. Where are the wargs?" 

"Dead. They attacked us," Luindur said. He said something else in Black Speech and the Orcs nodded. He turned to Joss and said: "This is why the orb sent me here. They are young ones and I will protect them now." 

She nodded. She hadn't faced an Orc in battle since the war. The Orcs of Mordor stayed far from the borders of Gondor and Gondorians only ventured as far as the towers at the former gate; she hadn't known there were still Orcs in Gondor itself. It put her hair on end to think of a whole family lurking in the woods along the King's road. She tried to recall if there had been any disappearances reported. 

She couldn't think of any. It didn’t matter if she could, besides; she couldn’t fight an ancient Elf who could take off a warg’s head in one stroke. If he was calling these Orcs his kin, she would need at least the Black Gate garrison to dispute the point. 

When she met Luindur’s eyes again, she got the feeling that he could see every thought that had just gone through her head. 

“Gag means ‘grandfather,’” Luindur said. “This is the skull of my brother Gothmog. Here are the marks of Sauron’s fingers, the mirror of the marks on my own. You see?" Luindur said. He shook his hair back from his ear, exposing the furrows on his skull to the young Orcs. The eldest Orc traced her finger along the white streaks in his hair. 

The Orc skull was swollen on the marked side. It looked like it had become infected around the furrows and grown calluses and distortions. She remembered suddenly who Gothmog was: the lieutenant of the chief Nazgûl, the Witch-King of Angmar. Gothmog had led the charge against Minas Tirith once the Witch-King fell. She had seen him as she looked out on the army spread over the plains, tall on his warg’s back. He had tried to kill her. 

She remembered the feel of an incoming stone, how she had watched her death approaching. She looked at the skull in Luindur’s hands. 

“Did you eat his brain?” Luindur asked the eldest. 

She nodded. “Gag charged me to be strong and remember the stories. I'm the clan leader now.”

“You honored him,” Luindur said. And he wasn’t flinching even a little. This wasn’t some ancient Elf custom too, was it?

Luindur spoke to the girls at length and they nodded and packed up some bits of things from under the tree roots: a blanket each, a club for one girl, a spear for the others, a store of apples and acorns that they divided among themselves. They quickly formed traveling packs from the blankets and melted into the trees. 

Meanwhile, Luindur wrapped the bones in Joss's cloak. "I will trade you mine," he said. "I thank you." 

"Where did the girls go?" 

"I told them I was turning my wagon and they should meet me down the road if they want to join me, but that I would not hunt them if they went another way. I'm a stranger."

"But you want to help them?" 

"I will take them somewhere that Orcs can live in peace. That place is not Ithilien." 

They walked back to the road. Bernard and another Man had dug a hole to bury the corpses of the wargs. They had dragged in the one, but the other was being noisily gnawed on by the bear. Bernard, leaning on his shovel, looked at the bundle in Luindur's arms. "What did you find out there?"

Luindur grunted. He strode onto the road and slapped the bear on the haunch. "Morco, sta," he said. 

The bear snorted and looked up from the warg corpse. "Morco!" Luindur commanded more sharply. "Here!" 

The bear sighed deeply, licked blood from his muzzle, and came to Luindur’s side. He stroked the enormous head. “I know it’s tasty, but we have to go. Walk with me a moment, Ranger?”

She followed him back to the blue wagon, where Luindur stashed the bundle just inside the door. He picked up his cloak from the ground, shook it off, and gave it to Joss. It was far too long for her, but she could fix that; and black was the right color, at least, even if it was missing the sigil of Gondor. 

“I must return east. I found what I was meant to find,” Luindur said to Gaffer. “I need the wagon. The wagons of the others will have room for you. If you—“ He broke off, and looked at the ground; pain flashed over his face briefly, before he froze into stone once more, and looked back up. “If you return to Middle-Earth, call me, and I will come.”

Gaffer’s brows lifted, and his mouth opened. “My dear, I am not leaving,” he said. 

Luindur stood very still. Nothing showed on his face. “You are sorely wounded. You should go.”

“What do I care for flesh and bone when my work is not yet done? My work has scarcely begun! No, indeed. Radagast, you must find your own way west, I am remaining.”

“We were called,” Radagast said, low and dangerous. Joss froze at his tone. 

Gaffer turned his body toward the brown wizard. “Then I refuse the call. My dear companion will inform you there is precedent.” 

“I must insist. You have been away from the counsel of our kind for too long. I saw what Saruman became and I will not have that happen again. You are weak, brother. I will force you if I must.” 

“I really cannot allow that,” Gaffer said. He raised his hand.

Blue light shone forth from the mouth of the wagon, engulfing Gaffer. Joss winced away and so did the bear, but Luindur stepped forward and caught Radagast as he was pushed backwards down the wagon steps. He set Radagast on his feet next to Joss.

The light subsided. “I am not alone and have never been alone. You asked what happened to my staff; well, it forms the body for my transformed brother in blue.” The orb was glowing, softly, behind Gaffer, and flared in response. “We may not speak, but he communicates a great deal,” Gaffer said. 

“This is monstrous!” 

“Do please bring your concerns to Ilúvatar. I would be interested to see what he says. Until then, I will be helping people, saving lives, and bettering the world he created. Now make way. We need to harness the bear.”

Luindur was already positioning the bear in the shafts and buckling them onto the armor. He bowed to Joss, hand on his heart in the elven manner. “Ranger. I take my leave. If I see you again, I hope it will be as friends.”

“Master Jeg.” She bowed in return, straightening to see Luindur suppressing a smile. “I hope so too.”

Luindur put his shoulder to the wagon, shoving it into the reverse position, hopped aboard and called out to the bear, and they left at an easy lope. Some few hundred yards down the road, three small figures emerged from the woods and were pulled aboard the wagon while it was still in motion. Joss heard their laughter on the wind blowing down from the mountain. 

“Those were Orcs!” Radagast said. “What is my brother doing?”

Joss didn't answer. Instead, she said, "We're nearly to Cair Andros."


	5. Chapter 5

She caught up with the blue wagon half a day's hard ride from Narchost and Carchost. "You didn't get very far," she said to Luindur when she was in speaking range. 

"We've been camped here for a few days while the girls settle their stomachs. They drank from a stream without boiling the water," Luindur said. As Joss approached, she saw that he had one of the girls curled up against his side, fast asleep: Gorlagh, the youngest. From their history, she had to be at least twenty-three, but she looked more like fourteen or fifteen, younger than Joss's son. 

"My son likes fermented soup when he's sick. I can brew some up." 

"Certainly," Luindur said. “They’re through the worst. Orcs are hardy. Don’t drink the water yourself, please, or you will likely die. We have a clean water cask should you need it.” 

“I have rainwater casks and purification supplies.”

Gorlagh made a small pained noise in her sleep and Luindur stroked her short hair. "Where is your son?” he asked. 

"He's under the personal protection of Lady Eowyn while his mother is away on her daring assignment into the East," Joss said. "She is sponsoring his masterwork. He's designing and building a new grain warehouse."

Luindur smiled a true smile. "A peaceful work." 

Joss nodded. 

"It is a very daring assignment that takes you into Mordor," Luindur said. 

"I am tasked to follow a couple of suspicious characters and report on what they are doing. Orders direct from the king. I travel with ravens that will carry my messages home.” The two ravens, riding on the back of the pack mule untethered, were intelligent creatures from Erebor. If she died—for whatever reason—they would carry that story back to King Elessar as well. If the ravens were also killed, that was a message all by itself. And she trusted that Luindur knew exactly what the ravens implied.

Luindur looked down at Gorlagh. “You want to help us bring them peace.” 

“I’d like to,” Joss said. “If it’s possible.” 

“Gaffer thinks it is.” 

“And you?” 

Luindur was silent, for a breath, and then a second breath, taken deeply into his lungs as he looked up to the sky. “There is always war,” he said, at last. “There is always destruction. But we do not have to embrace it. We can cultivate the flowers on the graves.” He returned his gaze to Gorlagh. “That is all the wisdom I have in my ten thousand years, I’m afraid.”

“It’s enough,” Joss said. 

She unpacked the mule and set the mule and her riding horse to graze, pitched her small tent by the wagon, and found the fermented soup base in her supplies, along with her kettle, cup, and bowl. She decanted a portion of rainwater from her cask into the kettle and set it on the fire to boil. 

Gorlagh woke with a pained sound. “Hungry, Tikh,” she cried. 

“Ranger Joss is here and has something that might help,” Luindur said to her. Gorlagh peered at Joss, her body tensing. 

Joss didn’t smile—smiles were sometimes threatening to Easterners—but glanced at her non-confrontationally.

“Eeya,” Gorlagh said. “Yes, please.” 

Joss tended her kettle. “So. Are you Tikh in this land?” she asked Luindur. 

“Tikh means uncle,” he replied softly. 

She liked the tender expression he had. At the same time, she knew her partner was in the mountains above them, silently watching the travelers, and she knew another party was traveling to the Greenwood with Radagast for a more magical investigation, and she knew a third party was traveling south through Haradwaith to see what they could discover. Just the mention of Orcs in Ithilien had Lord Faramir gripping his sword.

She had volunteered for this task: she would, she hoped, be the first emissary to a new people. She thought she could do it. She knew nobody else could. 

“What shall I call you, then?” Joss asked. 

“Best not to use the name I used last I was here,” he mused. “So call me Riswë.”

“I kind of like Master Jeg,” she said, and he laughed.

the end


End file.
